They’ll be Plenty of Time for That
Posted for Newsiestober Day 13: Rarepair
Cross posted to Ao3
Summer 1900
“When’s your birthday?” Sarah asked suddenly, turning to face him, the summer wind pulling strands of brown hair free from her updo. Spot blinked at her.
“What?” he asked, over the wind, as if he hadn’t heard her question. He still wasn’t used to the way Sarah asked personal questions, seemingly without warning.
“When’s your birthday?” she repeated a little louder. He watched her fingers reach up and gather the dark strands, tucking them behind her ear.
He looked away in thought for a moment, he did consider it a personal question, to ask about a birthday. It wasn’t something the newsies usually gave up freely. It was rather like their birth names. Important to some, not to others, hidden all the same.
“In the fall,” he answered, chastising himself a little as he did. He didn’t need to be guarded with Sarah. That’s half the reason he liked her, but it wasn’t easy to break out of the habits he had formed so long ago.
A couple passed them, strolling slowly down the walk, and Spot had to press closer to Sarah. He felt the thick fabric of her skirt brush over the top of his boot and he had the urge to move closer and dart further away all at once. He chanced a glance at her as he moved back over as the couple passed. She looked good, her hair swept way up on her head, seemingly held there by magic. She wasn’t wearing a hat and the sun made the dark strands gleam gold. Her shirtwaist was pressed neat and had frilly, lacy decoration all the way up to the base of her collarbone. She always looked good, that was the thing about Sarah. She had no more money than the rest of them but she somehow made it look better. But all the same, she had dressed up for this. He’d seen her at the lodgehouse, or after work, she still looked good, but this was a kind of polished he could recognize, the kind of polished that said you wanted to make an impression. She wanted to look nice. For whatever this was.
They were walking along the Manhattan side of the East River, so different from the Brooklyn side. This was all laid grass and brick walkways, designed with exacting precision where Brooklyn was just the docks. As far as Spot knew- and he knew Brooklyn- there wasn’t a place like this on his side, a park, a place you could bring a girl. A place you could bring Sarah Jacobs.
“What? Do you want me to guess?” she asked teasingly when she caught him looking at her. She was still on his birthday, though his mind had gone a hundred places since then. He smiled back, a little tomcat, a little edge,
“What do you want if you get it right?” It wasn’t entirely inappropriate, he knew the company she kept among the newsboys, she’d heard worse by far, but her cheeks still flushed pink and she looked down, a grin playing on her lips.
“Come to dinner at mine next time,” she said quickly, like it was already on her mind. Spot was good at hiding his immediate reactions after years of careful practice. If he hadn’t been, he almost definitely would have faltered a step. Dinner at hers. Dinner with the Jacobs- David, Les, their parents.
“Is that a good idea?” he asked slowly. She shrugged a shoulder up, looked at him again.
“I don’t think it’s a bad idea. David and Les already like you, and my parents heard about you plenty during the strike.”
“That couldn’t have been all good,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. She bumped into him on purpose this time, just enough to brush his shoulder with hers.
“Well, isn’t there a lot of good?” she asked, just as light as he had been. They weren’t getting to it, the meat of it, that he had threatened and yelled and intimidated his way through most of the strike. When he hadn’t been physically fighting, that is. He knew better than to think David hadn’t told her all of what she’d missed. They were close, and the way Sarah looked at him sometimes. Well, she knew what he was like and still agreed to go for a walk with him anyway.
“I’m not really one for family dinners,” he said. He wanted to say he wasn’t really Jack Kelly. The one who had done this sort thing with the Jacobs.
“They’re less scary than you think, and you could charm the boots off foriegn dignitaries,” she said with another soft smile. He could tell his words had pulled Jack to the front of her mind too. It was a choice she was making, to think that Spot would be scared by meeting her parents, that normal trepidation was all there was to it.. That there weren’t other implications there, other layers.
They walked in silence for a moment, slowly strolling in the Summer breeze. He had worn his good denim shirt, and while he didn’t regret it -Sarah had once told him it made his eyes seem an even brighter blue- a thin layer of sweat had broken out on the back of his neck.
“I hate to state the obvious here Sarah but there’s the little problem of my being Irish.” He said it fast, looking ahead, pretending he couldn’t feel that damn skirt edge over his boot again as she walked next to him.
“I don’t see why that’s a problem.” She was still pretending it wasn’t there, the layers. The things said under his words. The things that being Irish meant, being Catholic, not Jewish. The chasm of difference there.
“Then I don’t think we’re living in the same New York,” he said and bristled when his voice came out sounding a little sad. He usually had better control than that. She looked out at the water and they slowed down a little. He didn’t say anything, waited for her to gather her thoughts.
“My parents are more progressive than that, Spot. Not to mention, they recognize how much Irish people have done in the city for us,” she said, looking back at him. He held her gaze steady. He had heard about that, that the politicians and cops, people running for office and elections, Irish people, had done a fair amount to help out Jewish communities when they were starting out.
“I just don’t see that much,” he started, tearing his eyes from hers and looking out over the water too, towards Brooklyn. “It’s different, to a certain extent, in Brooklyn. You know, the city was only consolidated two years ago-” he blew out an angry breath “it’s still a mess, honestly, across the river, getting things organized,” he had told her some of it, the struggles they’d seen after Brooklyn had been brought under Manhattan as a borough.
“And honestly, sure, your parents might see Irish people as okay, but most of the neighborhoods aren’t like that and you know that, Sarah,” he said and as he glanced back he could see the shadow go over her eyes. He knew he was talking about a future neither of them had dared to mention before today. He also knew Sarah by now, the way she was just enough of a dreamer to pretend they wouldn’t face problems.
“You’re right, of course. There’s...other issues, things that would come up...later-” she flushed as she said it and Spot felt a zing of anticipation crawl up his spine at that insinuation of there being a ‘later’ for them. “-But my point stands, you should meet them, my parents,” she said, picking up her pace again.
“You really want me to?” He asked. He knew, but he’d like to hear it just the same. He was still a half step behind her but something in his voice made her turn and grin at him. It scrunched up her eyes and made the freckles on her cheeks stand out.
“Only if you’d like to keep talking walks with me.”
He smiled slowly at her, the wind pulling those same strands of hair free, getting them caught in her long eyelashes. Sarah wasn’t one for ultimatums, he knew it wasn’t that. He could refuse if he wanted to, at least put it off for a while. She’d likely still go out with him. But he found himself swaying. He didn’t want to disappoint Sarah. He’d never really felt that before. If his actions disappointed other people in the past, well, he figured he still knew best most of the time. He made the right decisions more often than not. He was sure of them and didn’t worry about what other people thought. But this pretty girl standing in front of him, this smart, sharp, witty girl who invited him to dinner, he didn’t want to disappoint her.
“So, what’s your guess?” he asked with a smile, stepping back in line with her. She looked at him quizzically.
“That was the deal, right? I come to dinner if you guess my birthday?” he reiterated. She rolled her eyes at the sky but continued in step with him.
“The only hint I get is that it's in Autumn?” she asked, scrutinizing him as if she could read his birthday in the comb of his hair or the line of his brow.
“Fine, I’ll make it easier, guess the month and it’s a deal.”
“Now, that I can do,” she said, still looking at him, her lips pursed together in question, brown eyes slanted and raking over his face. He basked in her gaze as much as the summer sun.
“What’s your thought process for figuring this out?” he asked after a second, his voice a little low in the back of his throat, he cleared it.
“A couple of things. Obviously, the first is trying to remember if anyone in my memory has ever mentioned it-”
“Unlikely,” he cut in.
“-Secondly, what exactly is your definition of Fall? It could be…” she looked off for a second, in thought, “the traditional Fall equinox, late September, pretty much ruling out the whole month-” he raised his eyebrows at her, “- or when school goes back in session, which would add September back into the mix, though unlikely considering I don’t think Brooklyn followed the same school schedule as Manhattan-'' he tipped his head in acknowledgement of that, noting her assumption he attended traditional school at all. “-or when it starts getting cold, which could be the middle of October,” she said this all as if figuring out a calculation and Spot couldn’t help but smile.
“C’mon, you’re stalling. Make a guess, Jacobs.”
“Hey, I have until we get back to my building to make a guess, I could take the rest of the walk if I want to,” she said and he didn’t mind that she was stalling, not really. They were walking North along the river but he could see the end of the promenade ahead, where the Fulton Fish Market jutted into the river before the Brooklyn Bridge. He could easily steer her onto the bridge, across the water, into his city. Easily extend this walk much longer than traditionally appropriate. And the desire to show her Brooklyn, his Brooklyn, was so strong for a minute he almost took her hand.
“What’s your favorite part about Manhattan?” he asked suddenly. If he couldn’t show her his city yet (he would someday and that was a promise) he wanted to know more about hers. Obviously he had been to Manhattan many times, slept at their lodgehouse after long parties, sold here more than once, but it wasn’t his home turf, he didn’t know it like Sarah did.
She didn’t look puzzled by his sudden change of topic, that’s what he liked about her, she took things in stride.
“Can I show you?” she asked with a mischievous smile. Spot grinned right back.
“It’s not something you could explain?”
“Well I could, but it wouldn't be nearly as fun, words don’t do it justice.”
“Lead the way.”
It was easy to be swept up in Sarah’s enthusiasm. As they neared Fulton’s she walked further into the city, past the Brooklyn Bridge, up Newspaper Row and into the Lower East Side. Technically they were walking towards her tenement but it didn’t feel like it normally did when their time together was coming to an end because he knew there was some specific destination before her doorstep, another few minutes with her.
She talked as they went, pointing out things here or there. She talked for a solid five minutes of her love of Newsies Square, more commonly known as City Hall Park, her steps bouncing as she gushed about it. She pointed out shops she liked, the place she bought her sewing instruments, a bookstore on the corner she frequented but rarely had the money to buy anything from. The city came so alive around her, Spot felt like they were in a bubble, just the two of them, her words, and the things she pointed out with a callused finger tip. He hardly even noticed the crush of people around them as they moved further into the Lower East Side.
She skirted past Eldridge street and down a side alley that had Spot looking over his shoulder. It was cool in the shadows here, pressed between the brick walls. They weren’t the only ones who sought refuge from the heat; people sat in corners or stood chatting over washes of laundry in Yiddish or Czech or some other language Spot hadn’t learned to recognize yet. The Yiddish reminded him that they were back in Sarah’s neighborhood now and some of these people could very well live in her building, or know her parents. He stuck his hands in his pockets.
She had stopped talking as they walked and the din of the city seemed to enter their little bubble. There was a part of his brain, the part that liked to know where he was and every fact about it, that tried to figure out where Sarah could be taking him, but his limited knowledge of Manhattan streets failed him when she turned, crossed a street, and pulled him down another back alley. The map in his head was in tatters. She walked with purpose, her boot heels tapping the hard packed dirt, and the rhythm led him through the streets. Suddenly she stopped and pulled open a wooden door so plain he almost didn’t notice it. Spot glanced at the door frame as he darted underneath it. He thought he saw a star of David.
The chill in the air was tangible as the door shut behind them and they stood in darkness. Spot closed his eyes hard, willing his eyesight to get used to the sudden absence of a sun soaked day.
“Come on,” Sarah whispered, her voice echoing. When he opened his eyes, he could see a little better. They were in what looked to be a long back hallway, spanning the length of the building. Sarah was ahead of him, her white shirtwaist bright in the dim light. He didn’t normally do this sort of thing, go into places without all the facts. He was fairly certain they weren’t supposed to be there. It didn’t bother him, being somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. That was most of his life. What did bother him was not knowing what he was walking into. He liked knowing, he liked being informed of things beforehand. So against his better instinct he took Sarah’s outstretched hand and followed her into the darkness.
She apparently knew her way around this-whatever this was- because she didn’t falter on the steps she led him up. The stairs creaked slightly below his boots but they were polished a dark brown, the banister’s wood supple under his hand. As much as he wanted to look around more, try to piece together this puzzle Sarah had brought him to, he couldn’t seem to focus on much past the weight of her hand in his, sustained in a way it never had been before. He couldn’t seem to remember a time they had touched like this. Their hands had brushed, surely. But this was different and he was so distracted that when she pulled him through another door, he was, for the first time in a long time, completely surprised by what he saw.
Light flooded the space in front of him, large windows to the West casting tendrils of sunlight down to the main floor, which was stretched out below the balcony they stood on. The space was full of things to look at, stars painted on the wall in excruciatingly minute detail, carved wood pillars that soared to the ceiling in tiled arches. But the most brilliant thing was a large stained glass window, set into the wall opposite the balcony they stood on. It seemed to swirl in beautiful blues and yellows, drawing in the stars around it.
“What is this place?” Spot said after a moment, a little speechless. Upon closer inspection he saw another star of David and Hebrew characters carved into the wood around him.
“This is the old synagogue my family used to go to before it closed,” she said, a little wistfully.
“It closed? Why?”
She shrugged her shoulders up, in a show of nonchalance that didn’t meet her eyes. “I guess they didn’t have the money to upkeep it any longer. This part of the neighborhood started attracting people from other places and it couldn’t support such a small congregation any more. They still use the other parts of the building but it’s not like...this,” she said, looking up at the space. Spot could see now, the dust on the chandeliers and benches in front of him. He took a deep breath. The space seemed to breathe with him.
“It’s beautiful here,” he said. Motes of dust hung in the air in shafts of blue tinged sunlight and they swirled and danced as he breathed out.
“It is. Sometimes I sneak up here. Even when I know I shouldn’t. Listen, you can barely hear the people from here,” she whispered. Spot didn’t respond at first, just strained his ears for the din of the street outside. The building was built well. Almost everywhere in the city you could hear something from the dirty streets below. There was a certain comfort to it, after you got used to it. You were never alone in New York, no matter how hard you tried. But here, here, it was almost silent. He could pick it up when he strained his ears but it wasn’t easy and it left an almost ringing sensation in its place.
“It’s quiet,” he said and his voice seemed to ring out into the stillness.
“It’s nice.”
“It is, thank you for bringing me here,” he said, his voice a little husky, Sarah’s hand still resting lightly in his. She turned to him and he pulled his eyes from the brilliance around him to her.
“There’s no one I’d rather show it to,” she said quietly and the weight of it hit Spot right in the chest. The weight, the realization that on some level, Sarah was picking him. Committing to something.
He looked around again for another second and the gravitas, standing in this place, holding Sarah Jacobs’ hand, hit him again and he felt like he might need to sit down. He suddenly saw things differently than before. He knew, always had known, on some level, that if he continued down this path, continued seeing Sarah, things in his life would never be the same. It was the sort of thing Spot was used to, predictions. Picturing how different decisions would impact his life, even years down the road. And despite the fact no promises had been made, they hadn’t done anything more than hold hands and talk for hours, standing here with her was a decision. A commitment that Spot hadn’t foreseen. What surprised him more was that it wasn’t one he had to overthink.
“We should get you home,” he said finally, voice thick in his throat again. Sarah peered at him a little curiously. He didn’t tend to be able to get much by her. Maybe that was okay.
Despite her suspicion, she nodded and turned, still holding onto his hand as she moved back into the stairwell. He took one last look over his shoulder at the expansive space. He wouldn’t forget this moment.
They exited the way they had come, and Spot reluctantly took his hand back, missing the weight of hers. They walked most of the way in companionable silence, punctuated only by Sarah resuming the explanation of some of her favorite places in Manhattan. Spot was captivated, despite his somewhat cluttered thoughts. He hadn’t been in love before, he didn’t really know what it was like. If it hit you all at once, so hard you nearly had to sit down, or if it grew slowly and it was only the realization that blinded you. He wasn’t sure, not positive he’d ever find out, but when he looked in Sarah’s eyes, as brown and deep and crisp as gingerbread, he thought maybe he’d like to.
Sooner than he wanted, they were standing in front of Sarah’s tenement, her on the step above him, him standing a mostly respectable distance from her.
“Should I walk you up?”
“This is okay,” she said and smiled, like she was adding ‘they’ll be plenty of time for that’ to the end of the sentence. He smiled back because he knew it was true.
“Thanks for coming out with me today Sarah, it was nicer than I could have planned,” he said honestly, “can we do it again soon?” It was too late for pretenses.
She smiled wider instead of answering, a mischievous look overtaking her face.
“October.”
Spot would be embarrassed to admit for half a second he didn’t realize what she was talking about. But he caught on and smiled then too. Their bet from earlier, that he’d come to dinner if he guessed his birthday.
“The thirteenth.”
There was never any way he wasn’t going to dinner.
